500 Posts!

We are pausing for a celebration today: This is my 500th blog post. So I guess if you’re still reading, and some of you are, thank you! And look at you! You have nothing better going on in your life?! Really? Are you just shirking responsibility to be here? I mean, I don’t mind if you are, I do it ALL the time. Just this weekend I had about 19 chapters to read, so I went to the pool and to Target. Cause when I have a lot to do I find other shit to do instead.

Off topic.

Five hundred posts!

Now listen, they haven’t all been good. Matter of fact, I’d say the fast majority of them are me just complaining about one thing or another. But that’s the beauty of having your own blog, you can say whatever you want!

I’ve been writing every day this year, this horrific, bitch of a year. And it’s been great. Something I never thought I’d be able to pull off. Unfortunately it hasn’t really upped my craft, but, and this is a big BUT, it has kept me regular. Like when you take probiotics.

I’m veering off again.

I love y’all, those of you who have been around awhile and our new friends. You make this community fun, my days have some kind of meaning, and hey, who else would I want to talk about probiotics and regularity with?! No one else.

Thanks.

Keep being you, and I’ll keep being me.

M.

They’re Not All Great

Last month I decided to start writing every, single day on this blog to see what would happen. Guess what happened? People read my blog, every, single day. Amazing! In fact, I broke the 1000 visitors mark in January, which has totally fucked with my head, and now I am incapable of writing anything because I am too afraid people are actually reading what I am writing and what if these strangers (mostly) hate me? AHHHH, are we here again? Never left. This low confidence, this negative self-image, this inability to take myself seriously as a writer is starting to gnaw at me again and it’s causing problems with my real writing too. My “real writing” is what I call the stuff I don’t post here. The short stories, the poems, the flash fiction, the lyric essays, the creative nonfiction, the stuff I submit to literary magazines, mostly. My real writing is suffering because I’m in a bad place mentally and emotionally and I can’t seem to climb out. But my blog is singing! Just got 40 new followers!

Thanks, y’all! Seriously, thank you to all of you who come here daily, or weekly, or monthly, and read the stuff that comes out of my mess of a brain. Thanks for tackling tough topics with me like mental illness, abortion, grief, bullying, my sister’s hair in the 1980s. I really appreciate it. I wish I could meet each of you and buy you a cup of coffee, or maybe a nice Chai Tea Latte? Yeah, sound nice? Let me know if you’re ever in the ATL, I’m around. And I love you.

But what to do about this other nonsense? Well, as you know I have limited my social media time, which has helped quite a bit, actually. But it seems like the less I have to worry about in the “now” the more stuff I just dig up from the past. Who does that?! Like, I don’t have the stress of trying to keep up with the Joneses on Facebook anymore, so I’m worrying instead about how my childhood made me desire to eat carbs when I watch crime documentaries. I dunno, bizarre you guys.

Is this why you come? Do you come to my blog to make yourself feel better about your own life? Cause if you do that is amazing and exactly what this blog should be used for. I can make your life look like a walk in the damn park. And no, not a walk in Central Park in the middle of the night. More like a walk in a nice, new, properly-lit, suburban park outside Fargo, North Dakota.

I don’t know why I tell my therapist that I can’t write stream of conscious stuff, cause this is coming out just fine.

I’m gonna stop. Eat some carbs. Think about life a little. Take a shower. Maybe.

Thank you all for being here.

And I hope this helped you feel more successful today.

This is not a great blog post. You deserve a gift:

That’s me. Sick with the flu. Eating a clam at a place called “The Shanty” in Rhode Island. No carbs! Thanks for the beautiful pic, Beth.

M.

Bloggedy, Blog, Blog, Blah

I didn’t set a New Year’s resolution. I didn’t set one because I’m capable of shaming myself much better than praising myself. If I set a resolution, and it falls apart in mid-March, then I fall apart in mid-March. And I have a hell of a time getting myself put back together. I’m like Humpty, ya dig? I’m really funny looking, but I things cooking (insert music notes). So sorry. Essentially I’m saving a lot of strife by not setting myself up to fail, which is what would inevitably happen. Because I know me. The other reason I didn’t feel called to set a resolution is because there wasn’t anything eating away at me to change. 2019, for all the ups and downs it gave me, was actually a pretty good year. And I see no reason for 2020 to be any different, which means I can still work on myself and all the things I was working on before, and hopefully just get better at this new routine.

But I did feel compelled to do some digging and look at portions of my life that could use a little more energy, and I came up with two areas: My weight, which you all know is a constant, life-long struggle of mine, and my writing, which I can say the same about. My weight has its own things to work out, and I am working on it. Always working on it. But my writing, well that is something that can wax and wane, and I had noticed there were very large waning spots over the last few years.

Let’s take this blog for instance. I started it back in 2016. Between 2016 and 2017 I made 20 posts. In 2018 I decided to try a bit harder and I wrote 250 posts! Whew, that escalated quickly. So my inclination was to say that I could write every day this year. Or maybe not everyday, but make at least 365 posts. Then I realized how crazy that sounded and I reeled it back, promising instead to just beat my year’s number. Then I realized I might be selling myself short. Orchestrating smallness. So I said, “No, no, Missy, stick to the plan. 365 posts.” Then I got a good night’s sleep and woke up in sweaty thoughts, “What the actual hell, Missy! You can’t write every, single, day. That’s madness.” Then I wrote every, single day for the first two weeks of the year and now I’m back to maybe I could do 365. Do you see why I never get anything accomplished?

Here is my point, in as much as I have one, commitment is cool or whatever. Setting a resolution to do something is nice, but commitment without intent isn’t going to get me very far. I can be totally committed to writing on this here bloggedy, blog, blog, but if I don’t actually intend to do it, set aside time each day, think up wonderful things to write about, spend some time actually thinking about things, then actually writing them down, I will sputter out. Blah, blah, blah.

You get me? I think you do. Maybe in a very abstract, very “I’m hangin on by a thread here, Missy” way, but you get me. And that’s what I love about you.

Go forth and dismantle resolutions. Or create them. Or accomplish them. Or whatever makes you work, and be happy, and creative. I support you any which way.

M.

Year of the Blog

Last October I decided to take this blog seriously. As seriously as one can take a blog with 100 followers. (Listen, I’m not being ungrateful. I see you all. And I’m grateful for your readership and friendship, or more likely that my life makes you feel better about your own life. Either way, thanks for the follows, y’all!) So, last October I decided to try to write as much as possible on here. It was more a test. A litmus test, to see if I was even capable of writing everyday. Or every other day. And I’m happy to say that I have been mildly successful. In fact, I realized pretty quickly that if I write, people come to read. Likewise, if I don’t write, people don’t come. It’s all very Field of Dreams-ish round these parts. If you write it, they will come.

So I’ve been writing. Some months are easier than others. This summer was a little slow with all my travels, but my blog has been on an uptick over the last couple of months, both because of my recent publication in an actual fucking poetry collection, and with a very personal blog that resonated with people. And you guys know that is my only goal with my writing, right? That it resonates with people. That people can read what I write and laugh, or smile, or get angry, well that’s all bonus material. What I really need is just one person to read my writing and shake their head in agreement, while they lick the Cheeto dust off their fingers and says, “Mmmhmm, girl, yes! Yes, girl! I have been there too! Thank you!” Which is why I write about things like mental health. Because somewhere, someone sitting in bed, wide-awake at three o’clock in the morning, needs to know they are not alone.

Anywho, this is a thank you post, even though it doesn’t seem like it. Man, I’m bad at this. Thanks for making my year of blogging successful. Thanks for reading my random thoughts and weird-ass stories. Thanks for liking and commenting and sharing. Thanks for, you know, just being there in the ether. I feel y’all. Not in a creepy way. In a real, spiritually-connected way. And I really do hope I make your day better.

As always, take care of yourself and each other.

M.